


Les Mis - ficlets

by Sarah531



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah531/pseuds/Sarah531
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the little LM ficlets/drabbles that I've posted on Tumblr but aren't really substantial enough for individual entries</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the 1957 movie's take on Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk, which somehow managed to be even more tragic than the original.

The risen man made his way steadily across the room, and chilled them all into silence once more. A few of the guards even lowered their guns slightly. It’s awful to see a person condemn himself to death, no matter how noble the circumstances, but it’s far worse to be his executioner. They wished for him to turn back and run away.

"Finish _both_ of us,” said the man, “at one blow.”

He was facing them then, head held high. The friend whom he wished to follow into death was staring at him as though not quite sure he was real. One of the soldiers found within himself some hidden vein of courage, not enough to be of any use perhaps, but enough to speak out of turn and ask, “Who are you?”

"Nobody," said the man. He said it straight away, as if he didn’t even have to consider it, but this made his comrade cry out-

“ _No_ , you fool, you brave, loyal fool! I won’t have you die belittling yourself. Come to me, Grantaire. Take my hand.”

The smile that burst across Grantaire’s face was enough to make the men doubt their actions still more, but they knew how little choice they had. They readied their guns.

"Do _you_ wish your eyes bandaged?” the sergeant asked him, perhaps seeking to draw things out as long as possible and hope for a miracle.

"No," he said, firmly but almost kindly. "If Enjolras can look death in the face, so can I."

"Very well."

No miracle came, but looking at Grantaire’s face anyone would have thought it had. He kept his eyes on Enjolras as he fell.


	2. Untitled ficlet #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Grantaire woke up to find someone else instead?

One of the soldiers said, “It seems to me I am about to shoot a good man,” but Grantaire was awake by then, awake and crying out. “ _I am one of them_!” He seemed to not be aware, or not care, that those words would doom him. Combeferre regarded him with surprise that turned to shock as he marched over.

"A moment, please, gentlemen," Grantaire said to the soldiers, and they actually paused, uncertain. "Where is Enjolras?" he asked. "He would be here at the bitter end if he could be. Where is he?"

"Gone," Combeferre said gently. "And I go to join him now."

Grantaire cast a glance back at the men and their guns, before saying in a voice that seemed to come from very far away indeed, “Were he here now, do you- do you think he would permit me to share your fate?”

"I think he would be honoured," Combeferre said sincerely, extending a hand.


	3. Untitled ficlet #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras's answer is no.

There were dead bodies all around him, most of them wearing the faces of his friends. Had they really all died here, so fast and so close together?

They looked very, very accusing.

Enjolras stood at the end of the room, twelve guns on him- he was right by the window, caught by the sun. The leader of the National Guard was about to give the order to fire, but Grantaire shouted over him.

"Long live the Republic! I’m one of them."

He walked across the room. It seemed to take an age, because he feared treading on any of the men on the floor. There was Jehan, quite close by, with blood in his hair, and Joly and Bousset all tangled up together. And there was glass everywhere, too, clear glass and green glass.

He came to a stop beside Enjolras, who was staring straight ahead at the corpses in the room. Grantaire looked at them, too, and then at the soldiers.

"Finish both of us at one blow," he said to them, and then he turned to Enjolras.

"Do you permit it?"

Enjolras only barely glanced at him. His eyes seemed as dead as the men who lay around him on the ground.

"No," he said. "You will go behind me, in your rightful place."

"Oh," said Grantaire softly. And then, "No, _no_ , I-“

But then everything went away, and the world started to blur, and he heard gunshot after gunshot. Then he fell, and the last thing he heard was the _crunch_ of his head hitting the glass.

His hand twisted in the air and then sunk.


	4. Untitled ficlet #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sprung from one of tumblr's many many tragic discussions

Gentlemen, you’ve heard plenty now of 1832, but one more, just _one_ more tale before I retire. For they were so brave, those boys, so stupid and so brave. They didn’t have to die, but they seemed set on it, and though I shan’t _apologise_ for my part in things I do regret them, if you take my meaning. I’ll have another brandy, it hurts in the place where my leg isn’t. You do remember Apollo? His name was mentioned in passing this evening, I’m sure of it. Can’t recollect the boy’s- the man’s real name, but ‘Apollo’ suited him well. Anyway, there he stood before our firing squad, all noble and proud, and then this shout came out of nowhere. A bold cry, one of revolution, and of course one that doomed the crier instantly. It was another man, and let me tell you- he was dishevelled and wild-haired and his face looked drowned in years of drink, but gentlemen- if that man had told me he’d been sent by God himself, I would have believed him. In that moment, I would.

He joined his comrade against the wall, barely sparing the rest of us a glance. He turned to him with infinite sweetness, and asked, I remember, he asked: “Do you permit it?” What the history behind those words was I will never know, but most likely it referred to something greater than either of them. Apollo, he said nothing in return, just smiled and took the man’s hand. I think he was raising it to kiss it when the shots rang out, and my shot too, of course.

And as it so often is in life, the most beautiful one died first. It may even have been my shot that killed him- that’s no boast, I add, no boast at all. He slumped against the wall still standing, taller indeed than most of us, defiant even in death. He had grasped his friend’s hand so tightly that although one remained standing and the other had fallen, their fingers were still entwined.

Oh, if you’d have seen the sight, you’d have fallen to your knees. It’s a wonder _I_ didn’t. My commander ordered us to leave the room and pursue the fugitives. Such was the state of the building- it was ravaged by cannon-fire- that we could not leave as fast as we should have. I recollect an officer standing on the hand of a corpse as he exited the room, and such was the turmoil in his mind, I think, that he _apologised_ to it. I was the last to leave- and I turned, I don’t know why, some force of god or humanity made me turn. The man on the floor was twitching, writhing, he was not dead, he was in agony. He had paid the highest price possible for this man he loved and he was still paying it. And, friends, the worst part is that I looked at his face and saw no tears. I raised my gun, fired once more, and at last he lay still.

Yet his hand did not fall. In my mind, even now, those hands are joined still- but it’s very late, I’ve finished my brandy. That was the story, and sure to be lost to the ages soon, but- that shot I fired at that man, Apollo’s man, it was my last shot. Had I not done that, perhaps I’d have kept my leg that day. But still- and I’ll say this with no fear, in your presence- that’s the part I don’t apologise for.


	5. The Waltz of Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr. thegreatvalstachio posted this:
> 
> "If someone ever decides to add a song featuring Tholomyès to Les Mis it should be to the tune of the Thenardiers’ “Waltz of Treachery” … that’s the part where they sing, “what to do? What to say? Shall you carry our treasure away? …”
> 
> And this was the result.

[THOLOMYES and his friends BLACHEVILLE, LISTOLIER and FAMEUIL discuss what to do with the mistresses they plan to abandon, while FANTINE waits in the cafe oblivious.]

THOLOMYES  
What to do? What to say?  
There simply _isn’t_ , another way-  
Barely had - a taste of life-  
Thinks she’d make me a suitable _wife_!  
No, not me  
Have no doubt  
Once they’ve got their claws in there’s no getting out!  
It’s for the best, don’t we know,  
Those lovely ladies- they come and they go!

LISTOLIER  
Poor Fantine, so naive-

THOLOMYES  
Come, she hasn’t the spirit to grieve!  
Come on boys, let’s go home,  
They’ll be glad there to see us alone  
[takes a letter from his pocket]  
We’ve had it now, our boyhood fun  
We’ll leave and there’s been no harm done!

[He gives a letter to a waiter who gives it to Fantine. She reads it with her expression growing more and more distraught as the men leave, continuing the song.]

BLACHEVELLE  
Ah, my friend, one thing more-  
I-I just want to see if you’re _sure_ -  
That baby girl you rocked to sleep-  
[spoken] Should you not pay for her upkeep?

[THOLOMYES pauses for one long, silent moment, then laughs. When he sings again, it’s to the tune of ‘Lovely Ladies’, fast and angry-]

THOLOMYES  
Oh my, Blacheville, taken for a fool-  
You’ve seen the child, you must know, she isn’t mine at all  
Little brat, some little rat, taken from some house  
You must know all women know the way to trap a spouse!  
Come on, let’s go, I can’t take any more-  
She always seemed so innocent…but I’ll bet that she’s a _whore_!

[The men hurry away. Fantine cries in the cafe.]


End file.
